Reaching
by Grimm Dolly
Summary: Visible skin painfully bruised below the bloodstains, eyes closed against the dying streetlamps. Were they brown or green? Her hair looked black, soaked now with her own life. Had it been red or brown? Once upon a time, he might have known...  Songfic


**Author's Note:** _This story is a songfic, and just kinda popped up outta the blue one day. I don't own anything in here not obviously mine. Song belongs to Red, characters belong to Marvel. Read, enjoy, review. 3_

Reaching

"C'mon, Rogue. It's getting' dark. Keep up now."

Ragged breath was Logan's only response, and though he knew Rogue was in great shape, they'd been trekking through brush and mountains like this for days. He knew she could only take so much. Matter of fact, the only reason she was here with him was because she wanted to help, to make him remember what he'd forgotten. She didn't have to be. Hadn't they fought about that very thing recently? He'd thought he'd told her to go home. To head back to the institute, where she'd be safe. But he couldn't remember. Not the argument, not the outcome, or even how they ended up here, now, faced with this impossible climb that was tiring even him out.

The sound behind him was almost gasping now. Odd, he thought, that this should affect her so badly. Normally she was never one to make a sound. Not even when… When… He shook his head, nausea overwhelming his senses. Stop, stop, rest. They needed rest. Closing his heavy eyes, Logan turned his body around and let it fall back against the hillside, opening his eyes again only when he could feel her near him, though the queasy feeling in his stomach didn't pass. Slowly, lashes parted to reveal the face of the woman in front of him, stained with blood and bruises. Long gashes oozed on her neck, and from the places on her skin where clothing had been torn from. It was all he could do not to wretch.

"Is somethin' wrong, sugar?"

Her voice, oh, her voice was the same as it always had been, though now there was a wispy quality to it, almost as though she couldn't catch her breath. Eyelids hung heavy over her brown eyes – or were they green? – and she was so pale. So ghostly, frighteningly pale. For a moment, all he could do was stare. Mouth hung open in silent agony. The whens, the hows, the whys running rampant and painful in his mind. And even as it came back to him, she began to fall, her body landing deadweight in his arms. Eyes closed. Breathing stopped.

_We tried to walk together, but the night was growing dark._

_Thought you were beside me, but I reached and you were gone_.

_Flooding, flooding, the gutter was flooding with blood. It was hot and metallic, the scent, and familiar, too. He never should have let her go alone. It didn't matter if he was tired, it shouldn't have mattered, he let it matter, and he slept. He'd slept and she'd been hurt, and here she was lying, face up on the sidewalk. Visible skin painfully bruised below the bloodstains, eyes closed against the dying streetlamps. Were they brown or green? Suddenly, he hated himself for not knowing. Her hair looked black, soaked now with her own life. Had it been red or brown? Once upon a time, he might have known. _

_The growl came from the darkness to the right, too pitiful to give attention too. Too tired and too half-dead to care about. Logan hoped he died. He deserved it for what he did to his Rogue. __**His**__ Rogue. The hitchhiker stowaway in love with his bikes and his cigars. The woman-child who stole his beer and didn't care when she got caught because she knew he wasn't really mad. The one who'd taught him to feel something again, to make him not want to be by himself constantly anymore, even when he insisted upon it. _

_And here she lay in his arms, blood oozing from her body. Something clicked in his memory and suddenly, she wasn't Rogue anymore. Her hair was all dark ringlets, and her face was blissful death. They weren't surrounded by concrete and yellow lights, but instead by moss-covered ground and cold mountain air. He knew her face, he'd done this before. Even the resounding yell that tore from his throat had a familiar quality to it. In the way it sounded, in the way it hurt._

_Sometimes I hear you calling from some lost and distant shore. _

_Sometimes I hear you crying for the way it was before._

"Ah miss you, Logan," the wind seemed to whisper all around him, though the bruised lips of the woman in his arms didn't so much as twitch. "Why won't you just come home to me?"

And in an instant, she was gone, her body fading from his grip even as he tried to hold tighter to the green cloak she wore around her. It slipped through is fingers like water, and Rogue soon became nothing but part of the night air. Her smell lingered all around him, and he wept for the memories filled with strawberry shampoo and honeysuckle skin. Wept for the southern comfort that made home upon her lips. Wept because he still couldn't remember the color of her eyes…

_Where are you now? Are you lost? Will I find you again?_

_Are you alone? Are you afraid? Are you searching for me?._

_Angry eyes glared at him from across the room. He could just see the golden flecks within them from here, but not their hue. They were always so dark when she was angry, especially at him. They'd been fighting like this for almost an hour, and it didn't seem like either one of them was willing to back down. It made him tired. Why couldn't she just understand? He couldn't see her hurt like that again. Whether she'd saved herself or not, he couldn't bear to watch her suffer, couldn't handle the painful memories of the woman whose name he didn't even know. _

_Rogue huffed at him again, arms folded under her breasts in defiance. She didn't want to go back to the institute. She said she didn't need to. Her body, covered from head to toe in green and white, had to still ache. She hid it well, the aches and the bruised scars left from her battle the night before. Worse for wear, sure, but she wouldn't show it. She never showed weakness around him._

"_So, what'yer sayin' is you don't need me around, causin' ya all kinds of heartache and worry, 'cuz Ah'm completely incapable of handlin' myself, right?" Yes! No, wait, that's not right either. _

"_Kid, it's not like that."_

"_Then tell me what it __**is**__ like, Logan, 'cuz Ah'd __**love**__ t'hear how ya really feel!"_

_Jesus, she was so angry! So angry that Logan was beginning to feel like he'd made a mistake in suggesting she go home in the first place. He was getting the feeling that if she'd been prepared, had used this anger on Sabretooth the night before, then he wouldn't be alive and still hunting them now. But when he looked at her, really looked, he could see the sadness, almost smell it coming off her in waves right behind the resentment._

"_Forget it, then. Ah'm goin'. Drop by whenever ya feel like it. You always do."_

_And she was gone so fast that he barely saw her leave. The swish of her cloak and the rustling sound of her bag on her hip was all that was left of her. Even her scent had gone, leaving him alone with thoughts of burying his nose in her hair and inhaling her shampoo. Saying he was sorry and he didn't mean it. He didn't want to do this alone anymore, because he really did remember better when she was close, even if the memories were painful. He remembered a story of someone called Kuekuatsu, and the dark-haired woman who he'd loved so very much, and that love was transferring to Rogue, and Jesus, she was gone. _

_She'd left hours ago…_

_Why did you go? I had to stay. Now I'm reaching for you._

_Will you wait? Will you wait? Will I see you again? _

He was awake again, gray dawn leaving his room lifeless and dreary. Poetically, it was like his heart, though Logan never really was a poetic man. It reminded him simply of the gray pallor of Rogue's skin from his nightmare. When he sat up and turned, he almost expected – _hoped_ – to see Rogue by his bedside, face frown-lined with worry over him. But there was nothing – just his jacket lying in the chair and the hallow sound of his own breathing. This was his second day back at the institute.

"She's not here," he'd been informed by more than one person. "She left with you and never came back. We thought she was still with you." And if he wasn't mistaken, there were accusing eyes on him. Kitty and Jubilee, though they adored him, shook their heads in pity. Storm looked sad and angry all at once, at him or Rogue or both – he didn't know. There was worry over the girl, but nothing could have compared to his guilt. Maybe that's why his nightmares had changed…

_You took it with you when you left; These scars are just a trace._

_Now it wanders lost and wounded - This heart that I misplaced._

"She's taken up residence with a former acquaintance of yours, I believe," said the professor. Logan looked troubled, confused, a little lost. "A mutant by the name of Deadpool, formerly known as Wade Wilson. Like you, he was subjected to Stryker's mistreatment…" Wade, Wade, Wade, why was that familiar to him? Flashes. Of a man with a bright smile and too much to say. Of a man disfigured with mouth sewn shut. Same man. Same focus in his eyes.

"What would she be doin' with him?"

"Why don't you go see for yourself, Logan?"

And so it was that the same afternoon, Logan was once more on his motorcycle, heading for some city he'd never been to in some place he didn't care about, all to find the girl he couldn't be without. Her smile burned into his skull, and it was so like that of the brown haired woman's. Soft eyes, like hers. More spunky, but with the same passion. How did he know? How did he know how those dark curls looked splayed over sheepskin? How tanned skin looked under firelight, or how pretty she'd been in white? And yet, he could not remember her name.

But here, in the middle of a brick apartment building was his answer. Holed up with someone he'd once known, someone who might remember him. Even away from him, she was still giving him answers, and he wanted to kiss her and throw her on his bike and never, ever get angry with her again.

Yet, he stopped at the door. Was this the right number? Yes, it was, surely. There was laughter and ruckus coming from inside, and now and again Rogue would shriek and laugh in a way he'd never heard come from her. She tried so hard to be serious around him, to be so much older than she was. And he'd never given her room for play, had he? He'd need to change that.

But, oh God, she was still laughing, and there was laughter with hers. A man's. He could hear scuffling from inside – a chase. His heart was unraveling itself at the seams and without his knowing, there was a single tear falling from each eye. And his heart was in his shoes when he saw a wild streak of honey brown and shocking white dart by the window. Rogue, **his **Rogue was pinned to the corner of the countertop, laughing as generous amounts of flour was being tossed at her from across the kitchen by someone Logan couldn't quite see…

_Where are you now? Are you lost? Will I find you again?_

_Are you alone? Are you afraid? Are you searching for me?._

Brown. Jesus help him, they were brown and they were gorgeous, and if she so much as blinked or looked away from him, he thought he might die. Brown eyes peered up at him from under dark lashes. Shock, followed by realization, and then relief overtook Rogue's face all at once before she lunged herself into his arms. She wasn't mad at him anymore, God, she wasn't mad. She didn't hate him and she didn't try to run from him and she didn't slam the door in his face.

"You got a spunky one there," came a teasing voice from the doorway. Black and red garb, smelled of gunpowder and blood. Must've just gotten home… How did he know that? Logan didn't answer, but held the girl to him.

"Ah missed you so much. Ah didn't think you'd ever come lookin' for me…"

_Why did you go? I had to stay. Now I'm reaching for you._

_Will you wait? Will you wait? Will I see you again? _

_Eyes popped open wide, seeing nothing at first but the darkness all around him, the warmth of the sheet curled around his body. He could still smell strawberry shampoo and honeysuckle in the room and smiled, taking comfort in it. He'd never get enough of that smell, he thought, and vowed in the morning he'd show Rogue again just how much he'd missed her. _

_He'd never let her go again. Never send her away. _

_He rolled over in bed, reaching out across it to take her by the waist and pull her back against him, longing to bury his nose in her hair and to feel the heat of her body pressed against his in the middle of the night. To listen to her breathe so soundly, to watch the way her eyes danced behind their lids while she dreamt._

_And then he realized his bed was empty…_


End file.
